Stories of the grieving
by lyramoonlight
Summary: Grief, like many other things, is difficult to deal with. Because it's not rationnal. Because it's so much bigger than us. And we cut it up in neat packages that we lable "stages 1 to 5". And we decide that's how things happen. But I don't think that's the right path. Because to me, mourning processes are as multiple and different as losses.
1. Leah

**Hello everyone !** **Okay, this is my first fanfic ever, so I have no idea if anyone will even read this. I am new on FanFiction so I'm not very good at using it. Plus, English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes please let me know (kindly please, I can be a bit sensitive ;D )**

**This is a one-shot that takes place in Eclipse, during the fight against the newborns. The pack split up, and Leah was separated from Seth.**

**Disclaimer: All the characters mentionned here belong to the wonderful Stephenie Meyer and her extraordinary Twilight Saga.**

**(Please note that this is about loss and mourning. If you don't want to read it, well, don't! ; ) )**

**Enjoy and meet me at the bottom!**

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Leah, exhausted, was walking back to the meeting point, thinking over the fight that had just ended. Overall, it had gone rather well. Of course, Jared had been hurt, but he would heal well, and fast. In two weeks, three tops, it would be as if nothing had happened. The others only had light injuries, and would be fine by tomorrow morning. Everything would be fine.

But even though she kept telling herself that, she couldn't help the horrible fear that was growing in her chest. Couldn't help, or even explain, the feeling that despite everything that seemed well, something was in fact horribly, horribly wrong.

Unable to stop herself, she let her slow, tired walk turn to a faster pace, before morphing in a full-speed run. Soon, she was racing as if her life depended on it, as if she could stop anything wrong from happening if she got there soon enough. The pack mind was still not clear enough for her to learn anything, everyone just tending to their wounds, and lying down to rest; the perfect unity she was used to had been blurred out and replaced by a muddle of confused and exhausted thoughts. However, as she got closer, she felt the thoughts start to unite again, but not in a good way. Those united thoughts, mostly emotions really, only enhanced her growing fear.

Pain. Anger._ Guilt_.

This was _so_ not good. But _who_, she screamed in her head. She got her answer at the exact moment she finally reached the small meadow that was their meeting point.

Seth.

No. _No_. _NO!_

But it was. Lying on his flank, in the middle of the loose circle formed by the pack, was her moronic, aggravating, adorable brother. The one and only thing she had sworn she wouldn't loose, because she couldn't live through it.

_Leah_.

In the middle of all the other voices, Sam's stood out, laced with guilt. He had stepped forward in the circle, and joined her next to her brother.

_I'm sorry. I tried, I swear. I had my eye on him, but I lost sight of him for a few seconds, and when I found him again, they had gotten to him already. I wasn't fast enough. I'm sorry._

She had stopped listening long before he was done. Lost in Seth's glassy-eyed stare, she was trying to process the idea. She had lost him. Forever. He was the only thing that kept her there, and he was gone. Because she wasn't there for him when he needed her. Because she had trusted Sam to keep him safe, and she never should have.

_Leah? Leah, look at me._

She did. She looked up at Sam, and the pack felt at the same time as her the agony shift to a burning, raging hatred.

She pounced.

He was much bigger and heavier, but one thing gave her an advantage: he was trying not to hurt her. She, on the other hand, was aiming for the kill.

_Leah! Leah, no! Stop !_

_Stay back!_

Sam's alpha voice sent all the wolves staggering back, preventing Jacob and Paul from breaking the fight like they intended to, but had no effect on Leah. Apparently the pain she felt outweighed the Alpha's orders, or maybe it was because, in her heart, she was already not part of the pack any more. Maybe the order simply wasn't directed at her. Part of her mind was listing off possible reasons, but stopped when she realized that she really couldn't care less. However the burning rage had drawn back a bit, enough for her to realize that she didn't want to kill Sam, not really. She just wanted _out_. Slowly, she got up, let go of Sam, and backed out of the meadow. With a last look at Seth's still figure, she turned and ran. As fast as she could, further and further away from the wretched meadow. Sam silenced the voices calling after her, and soon she could not hear any of them anymore. She had severed herself from the pack, and she sighed in something that could have been relief if she wasn't so... numb.

She had to get away from them. She couldn't interact with anyone in this state, and that included the pack. She only wanted to run, run and never stop. It almost felt like, if she could run fast enough, she could leave the pain behind. Maybe she could run forever, and never stop, she mused. Eventually, the rationnal, human, _hurting_ side of her would wither away, and she would feel better. Maybe. Someday.

She sped up.

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**So? What do you think? I have ideas for other characters, too; should I do them too? Please review. If you have any character you want to see, tell me. For now I'm only doing the Stories of the grieving, which means the way one particular character reacts to one particular loss. I was planning in doing Seth in the same situation, ( in my head he doesn't react like Leah at all) and maybe a vampire or two. Should I? You tell me ! ; )**


	2. Renesmée

**Disclaimer: Again, none of these wonderfully deep characters are mine, only the half-formed idea I call a plot and the way they react. **

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The war, finally, was over. The relief that washed across the battlefield was almost tangible, as the agonized cries of the mourning wives faded in the distance. They had refused to leave the remnants of their husbands' bodies, and had been carried away, kicking and screaming, by the haggard survivors of their army.

_Someone_ had to reign over Volterra, after all.

And then a small voice broke the silence.

"They're... gone?"

Huilen smiled down at Nahuel.

"Yes, Honey. They are."

Cheers and screams of joy erupted all at once, as people blindly and randomly hugged each other. They were_ gone. _It was_ over._

But some, in the boiling turmoil of utter happiness that surrounded them, were trapped outside of the joy and relief. Some were still frozen. Some were shaking with heaving, dry sobs, crumpled to the ground and hugging themselves to avoid falling apart.

And one of them had disappeared into the forest, and would not come back.

Because sometimes, victory is also loss. And pain, and guilt, and an awful lot of burning "what if's".

And now, as the mourning for the dead began, as Tanya and Kate shrieked for Irina, as Seth howled for Leah, as Senna collapsed in the pile of cinders that had been Zafrina, the Cullens were slowly coming upon the fact that they, too, had recieved a wound that could not be healed. That, where Alice Cullen had been standing in the once indestructible unit they formed, there was now a gaping hole and a pillar of purple smoke. And that Jasper, as he tried to get away from the void, had created a hole of his own.

o0o0o

"Auntie Rosie?"

"Yes honey ?"

"Where's Auntie Alice?"

If Rosalie could have cried, actually_ cried, _with burning, bitter tears that would have taken away part of the pain, she would have. She would have sobbed and sobbed, at nighttime, hidden away in her room with Emmet, and together they would have said goodbye to Alice and Jasper. Then, in that dream world, she would have cried herself to sleep, and in the morning she would've felt better.

But this was no dream world, and she couldn't sleep. Or cry. And so it felt like she was still stuck on that wretched day, like she had lost Alice this morning. And because she couldn't cry, because her pain couldn't escape, it stayed inside her. Stifling her. Sometimes she could have sworn she was drowning, suffocating in her bitter grief and aching emptiness.

"She's gone, love. I'm sorry."

"When is she coming back?"

At this Rosalie felt a huge sob form in her chest. But you can't cry in front of a kid, even if you're not actually producing tears.

"She's not, love. She's not coming back."

And with that Rosalie fled the room and Renesmée's big, hurt-filled eyes.

"But she didn't say goodbye..." the little girl whispered, and a lonely tear slowly rolled off her cheek.

o0o0o

"Nessie? Nessie, what's wrong?"

"Auntie Rosie said Auntie Alice was gone, and not coming back. But she didn't say goodbye to me. What did I do, Momma? Was I a bad girl? Is it my fault?"

Bella's aching dead heart suddenly felt like it had split down the middle.

"Oh love no, it's not your fault. It's no one's fault, you were a very sweet little girl. What Auntie Rosalie meant, honey, is..."

She took a deep breath.

"... is that Auntie Alice died, love. That's why she's not coming back, and why she didn't say goodbye. But she loved you very very much, you know?"

"She died? Why did she die?" Renesmée sobbed.

"She was killed in the battle, Nessie. Remember the big battle?"

"Oh. Like Irina and Senna?"

"Yes, honey. Just like them."

"What about Uncle Jasper?"

"He left because he was sad about Auntie Alice. He wants to be alone for a bit."

"Because Auntie Alice died in a battle over me, right? So then this _is_ my fault."

Bella grabbed her daughter's shoulders.

"Don't say that, Nessie. Nothing was your fault. The people in that battle were there willingly and knew the risks. I never want to hear you blame yourself about this again, okay love?"

If her hearing had been normal, _human_, she would have missed her daughter's answering whisper.

"Okay."

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**Umm... so? Whadd'ya think? I know it's very short, and I tried to make it longer, but anything I added just didn't sound right... sorry. I think next chapter might be about Bella and Edward, I've started writing it but... not sure ;) Also, if you find mistakes, can you please point them out? English still isn't my first language. Thanks!**


	3. Marcus

**A/N: Hi! Umm, it's been ages, I know, and I'm not gonna try and justify it. Please just know that I'm incredibly sorry about that, and that I've certainly not forgotten this fic. It's always in a corner of my mind, I just have a hard time putting it out there. However I won't give this up without warning so don't worry about that! Also, I've already started working on next chapter, so that shouldn't be too long ;)**

**Disclaimer: Alas, this is still not mine, nor will it, I believe, ever be. Oh, well. Onwards!**

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Numb had succeeded to pain. It was like a law of nature, really. Turmoiling waves gave way to clear sand, blinding lights receded to soothing dark, and agony faded to emptiness.

A kindness, maybe. An ultimate mercy to those who could not live but would not die.

Or at least it had seemed that way. It had felt like, although he still couldn't breathe from the pain, he didn't have to suffocate from it anymore. Like he was allowed to hold his breath and wait, like he didn't have to be in pain all the time.

If he kept very very still, the pain left him be.

They were like two spirits in one body-his pain and him. There was Marcus, the third Volturi brother, polished and refined, less vindictive than Caius, more objective than Aro. He closed the triangle, held the Coven together, with a brush of his fingers against Aro's brittle hand. And he was in love. Ridiculously so. It made him smile like a madman and sigh in contentment. It tinted his days in a peaceful pink and painted his nights with a passionate indigo. It made him into a person that deserved, and wanted, to see another day.

Now he did neither. Now he was the new Marcus, a merger between that old, obscenely happy one and the pain that was now such a huge part of him. It filled his body up so much that the room left for the _real_ him, for _Marcus_, was too small, and he lay shriveled up in a corner. Too far gone to stand again but not far enough that he couldn't feel his legs. Dying but not dead.

And it had stopped hurting somewhat. He could still feel it, pulsing next to him like some gruesome slimy beast, but if he kept still and did not move, it worked out. So he kept still.

But one day, he had walked in, the young one so much like him. He could see himself in those eyes, could feel the stirrings of his being in that strange reflection. This one _knew_. They stared into each other's eyes for a brief moment, and he knew what the child would ask for.

_Make it stop_.

He could hear himself in those words, and it was painful. Aro sent the child away.

But then he had been back, and he seemed like a different person. Cowering into his side, was the reason of it all - the reason of the terrifying pain, and of the all-consuming joy. The reason had big brown eyes, and it was dreadfully clumsy. It was also a fearsome weapon. Nothing could have destroyed the golden-eyed child as fast and easily as the frail, petrified weapon beside him- and nothing could have destroyed her as fast and easily as him. But they were together now, and so they were indestructible.

Again, Marcus looked into the eyes of the child, the one who had retraced his steps to hell and stumbled down there upon the key to his salvation, and he wondered. He wondered why some people get a second chance and some don't. Why some stay stuck in hell while some have a ticket home. And why one got so attached to the single most dangerous thing for one's soul.

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**A/N: So, that's out there. I've been wondering, am I too elusive, when I talk about someone, or is it easy to understand? Like, can you easily tell who I'm talking about?****Also, Rosalie coming up next, unless I have a major change of mind I guess :D** **Thank you so much for reading!**


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